Rise of the Storm

by Carrie Summers

  “Does the Breaking mean the seal is failing?”

  Parveld’s face grew somber. “Given what I’ve just seen in that child, I suspect so. I mentioned the Hunger’s constant desire to tear the boundary. There are certain patterns that manifest whenever the Hunger grows closer to achieving its goal. The rifts can only be opened from our world—I don’t know why, but we can certainly be grateful for that. In order to rend the boundary, the Hunger needs people. Sometimes they must perform a ritual. Sometimes they start wars or invent magic that damages the fabric of possibility. In any case, the first sign is the rise of greed and madness. Such conditions make a person’s mind susceptible to the Hunger’s whispering.”

  I chewed the inside of my lip while I thought about this. “So the Hunger turned the child mad? How? The poison came from a Prov arrow.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know, and that bothers me. I believe it’s paramount that you discover the source of this toxin.”

  As if it wasn’t already critical that we learn how the Provs had gained the ability to turn our soldiers mad with just a scratch from an arrow or blade. “So go on,” I said. “The Hunger caused the Maelstrom, and the seal is failing. When it does, our… world will be sucked into the breach?”

  “More or less. Sometimes it consumes in more of a figurative sense. People and animals simply lose the will to live as their vitality drains into the Hunger’s bottomless pit. Given the earthquakes, I suspect you’re closer with your description. It’s difficult to envision the shape of a continent when you live upon it, but if you imagine a map of the Atal Empire, I suspect the lines made by the recent chasms would resemble a loaf of bread being pulled at one edge, breaking apart as the outer rind is devoured, bit by bit.”

  “And Cosmal Peninsula is the rind.”

  Parveld nodded, eyes pained. “I believe its loss is inevitable. I suppose it’s a mercy that Savra’s no longer here to witness her home vanishing beneath the waves.”

  “Back to the tainted magic of metalogy… is it dangerous?” As I spoke, I couldn’t help but recall the Sharder woman, Falla’s, warning in what felt like a different life. She’d taken my silver ring, the band that enabled my first-rank argent magic, and told me that I didn’t want to be associated with such corrupt magic anyway.

  When Parveld chuckled, I got the sense it was only because the other alternative was to cry. “Months ago, I might have warned you to do everything you could to stop the practice of metalogy. Most certainly, the taint has an effect. I believe it’s one of the mechanisms by which the Hunger influences our world. Many of the mages in this Hold are likely infected day by day with ever stronger avarice, greed, or madness. But even if you could convince the mages to abandon the source of their power, I doubt it would save the situation. The Breaking will happen. When it does, the corruption which has leaked into the Maelstrom-metals will be like a few grains of salt tossed into the ocean. If anything, those mages who still remember the people they once were might help you in your fight to reseal the rift.”

  “I wish I’d known all of this sooner.”

  “I’ll be honest, Kostan,” he said.

  I jerked at the use of my given name. In just a few short weeks, I’d become so accustomed to being addressed as your eminence, I’d almost forgotten how it sounded.

  “Apologies,” he said. “Your eminence.”

  “No, it’s all right. I prefer Kostan.”

  “By the time you Ascended, it was already too late. I did try to reach out to Emperor Tovmeil when I first arrived in the Empire. I wasn’t in Jaliss at the time, but I sent letters. I asked to speak with him about the dangers of metalogy—particularly when it came to the apparent fascination many of his ministers had with gaining ranks in the different orders. When he refused my requests for a meeting, I waited until the time of his assassination approached. I sent multiple warnings. Futile, I know. By then, the Ministry likely read every scroll and letter that arrived.”

  “But if I’d known even a few weeks earlier… maybe there’s something I could have done.”

  “Perhaps. More likely, you wouldn’t have listened to me. Not until we spoke about Savra and you saw what happened to that child.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” I said. “Speaking of the child, how did you know the corruption had taken hold in such a way.”

  A wry smile twisted the corner of his mouth. “And that brings us back to the beginning. My magic—I believe the Hunger sensed my touch on the boy and woke him to madness. Among other things, I have the ability to sense the inner light which glows in all our hearts. I call it a spark. Savra, you may be interested to learn, called it an aura. In any case, the closest resemblance among the magic of your civilization would be argent magic.”

  “Magic of the mind.”

  “More or less. There is also a particular way that I can use the life forces of others. I weave them together to achieve my Wants. But it has a cost. You felt it before I threw you from the boy’s chamber.”

  “The pain?”

  He nodded, regret obvious on his face. “It’s both my boon and my burden. I must hurt—or to achieve the greatest effects, kill—others if I wish to accomplish great tasks with my magic. For that very reason, I can’t truly Want to do something unless its critically important. My friend Lilik called it the curse of my noble heart. I have the power to remake the world to my desire. But I can’t because I can rarely hurt someone willfully. And only twice in my life have I killed to gather the power needed for my greatest weavings.”

  I felt a little headache between my eyes. “It’s a lot to take in.”

  “I understand,” he said. “The short answer is I looked into the boy’s soul, and I saw the taint infecting his spark. I meant it when I said the madness was poised to take control.”

  “Is there no way to cure him?” I asked. “Because if not, maybe it would be a mercy to kill him instead.”

  Parveld blinked as he considered this. “Actually, there may be.”

  For the first time that day, I felt a thrill in my chest. I sat up straight. “How? Returning a healthy boy to the Splits would help me tremendously. Not to mention, I’ve been unable to sleep most nights worrying about him.”

  With a sigh, Parveld rapped a knuckle against his forehead. “Oh, tides. That came out poorly. Yes, I suspect the madness can be purged from the boy. Unfortunately, you’ll have to seal the Maelstrom rift to do it.”

  My shoulders slumped as hope fled. “That’s all, huh?”

  “In any case, I wouldn’t kill him if you have a place to keep him safe. It’s likely the Provs have little idea what their arrows have done. At least, I’d hope they don’t truly understand the effects. You could use him to beg them to stop employing the toxin. Or who knows… maybe you’ll manage to close the rift.”

  Maybe I’d manage. Was I supposed to take heart in that faint encouragement? Well, whether or not Parveld believed in me, I had no choice but to keep trying.

  “I’ll move him somewhere safe, then. Outside the Hold. I appreciate everything you’ve shared—”

  My words were cut short when the Prime Protector shoved through the door. Blood leaked from a small cut on her cheek.

  I jumped from my seat. “Report, please.”

  She paused long enough to cast a glare at Parveld, who had at least shown the good sense to get out of her chair.

  “The threat is eliminated, your eminence.”

  “Damage?”

  “The maddened protectors had to be killed. We lost three sound-minded soldiers in the process. No one else was injured, largely due to your earlier suggestion that we post guards on the barracks. They managed to keep the maddened soldiers confined to the building.”

  I shooed away her compliment with a gesture. “Without your quick response, it wouldn’t have been enough.”

  Her gaze shifted to Parveld who nodded politely as he moved toward the door.

  “I suppose I have your friend here to thank,
too. The aurums said he saved you from the child in the tower, and that his quick words to a soldier on the way to my office prompted an early response. In fact, it’s rather intriguing. By the time the alarm was sounded, extra protectors had already joined the guards fighting their maddened brethren. The vow that binds the protectors to your will should not have allowed a foreign wine merchant to provoke them into action.”

  Parveld shrugged, doing his best to look innocent. He wasn’t a very good liar. Given what he’d just told me, I suspected his ability had allowed him to influence my guards despite the argent magic that should have prevented it. But he clearly wished to keep his secrets near.

  “Most likely, the protectors have seen the close company that Parveld and I have been keeping. Added to that, he’s persuasive when he wants to be.”

  Though the Prime Protector’s eyes narrowed, she didn’t argue. Instead, she faced us and bowed. “If your eminence wouldn’t mind, there’s something else we should discuss.”

  Parveld had already opened the door, and the comparatively fresh air of the alley outside the woman’s office called to me. But I had a duty. Taking a deep breath of the coolness outside, I nodded.

  “Thank you again, Parveld. We’ll speak later,” I hope.

  He bowed, a motion that he clearly wasn’t accustomed to. “Your eminence,” he said as he closed the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Savra

  A wide trail through the Icethorn Mountains

  THE STORMSHARD COLUMN marched four and five abreast now, with wardstones distributed evenly among the ranks. Sirez and the leaders were less worried about Riftspawn than they were the protectors we pursued, but the tighter grouping protected us from attacks regardless of the source.

  As before, I walked with Falla. Most of the time, I focused on my aura-sight. I’d grown better at seeking precise information by inspecting other Sharders’ spirits. This used the Sensing aspect, according to Falla. It was her area of expertise, which helped her teach me the techniques. I’d learned to focus on someone and learn the gist of their thoughts and emotions. I was a bit confused between the Sensing and Speech aspects, but she explained that the Speech aspect allowed direct communication. Though Falla’s Sensing allowed her to hear me talking to Lilik in my thoughts, she couldn’t project her voice into my mind.

  Given what we’d learned, then, I seemed to be able to use all the aspects, but in somewhat limited ways. For instance, Falla could tell if someone was lying when they spoke, but I could only guess based on their emotions. Our progress gave me hope, though. In a few days, we would reach the Atal grasslands. We would finally meet Kostan’s forces. And I wanted to be ready.

  Around midday on the third day out from Tendal’s village, we reached a suspension bridge that spanned a deep gorge. Far below, a mountain stream cascaded down tiers of stone. The bridge itself was made from ropes anchored to pitons driven deep into the rocks on either side. Wood planks made a bouncing, swaying platform, and in a few places, flat slates had been used instead of planks. The construction did not look sturdy.

  I chewed my lip. At least I wasn’t trying to cross on horseback.

  As we waited, the bridge swaying and jouncing with every footstep of the soldiers crossing in groups of four and five, my mind wandered to thoughts of my father. Where was he now? Had he made it safely across the mountain passes?

  Or had an avalanche swallowed him whole? The worries were a familiar echo of the years before I’d left Numintown. Growing up, I’d spent countless sleepless nights wondering whether my father was still alive.

  As I cast my thoughts back to those cool nights, the thin covers scratching my bare legs, I couldn’t help recalling the night whispers.

  I touched Falla on the shoulder. “I just had a thought about my domain,” I said.

  Falla had been watching a laden mule as it stepped, wild-eyed, onto the first of the bridge planks. Almost as if she didn’t realize what she was doing, she took a step back and pressed her hand against one of the pitons supporting the structure.

  “If that thing pops, it will take your hand off,” a nearby Sharder said.

  Grimacing, Falla lifted her hand. “Good point.” She returned her attention to me. “And?”

  The mule squealed when one of the slate footsteps tilted under its hoof. Eyes nearly as wide as the beast, the Sharder leading the mule hissed through clenched teeth then forced calming words from between tight lips.

  “I was thinking about the night whispers. Sometimes I imagined they were my grandmother and my aunt speaking. Grandma died when I was young, and my aunt was born with weak lungs. One day she went to the sluices early and didn’t return.”

  Falla raised a brow. “Did that scare you? You mentioned nightmares as a reason you closed yourself off.”

  “I thought so. But I just remembered something else. After father disappeared, I was so afraid that I’d hear him speaking to me in the same way. I thought that would mean he was really dead. I remember focusing on pushing the whispers away. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”

  “Well, he’s safe now,” Falla said. “Maybe you can remove whatever guards you put up.”

  “Is he?” I asked. “And what about my mother and sister?”

  Her eyes seemed to penetrate the excuse without needing words. But she spoke anyway. “Would you rather live in ignorance? Especially if the fate of the Empire depends on it?

  I sighed. “I suppose not.”

  Again the mule squealed. I winced at the shrill sound, and didn’t look up; it would be our turn to cross the storms-cursed bridge soon anyway. But when more shouts peppered the air, followed by a mind-chilling wail, my heart stuttered.

  I knew that sound. The Spawn were here.

  Across the gorge, five creatures flowed down the nearly sheer cliff in a foul waterfall. The fastest had giant spider’s legs and goat’s hooves. With a shriek, it leaped toward the small huddle of Sharders who had gathered on the far side of the bridge to wait. The other monsters followed.

  A man fell beneath the fangs of a three-legged beast with the bloated belly of a toad and half a wing sprouting from its back. I watched in horror as, together, the pair rolled off the edge of the trail and plummeted into the gorge. Bones snapped, and the crack of the Sharder’s skull was loud over the roar of the stream. He plunged into the water, his blood turning the spray into a pink froth. But the Riftspawn whipped out a clawed leg and caught hold of the cliff. Shrieking, it began the climb out of the depths.

  “Back!” A Sharder yelled as he pulled out his wardstone. Beside him, a woman was grappling with a beast less than half her size, trying to hold back its snapping jaws while she pulled her blade. When the man with the stone opened his palm, the Spawn shrieked in pain. As if burned, it leaped headlong, fleeing in terror. The jump took it to the edge of the precipice where another Sharder put a booted foot into its head. The monster tumbled over the edge, cracking against a tooth of stone. Moments later, the stream swallowed it.

  Roaring, the Sharder advanced on the remaining three beasts. They’d managed to down a horse and were ripping into the animal’s flesh. Another Sharder, a woman I recognized from the conclave, pulled a second wardstone from her pouch and joined the man. Hands outstretched, they advanced on the beasts.

  I fell into my aura-sight.

  A few days past, I’d sensed light inside the wardstones. But the glow had been faint, like a fire burning low. As the Sharders carried them close to the Riftspawn, the stones’ auras flared, a light so bright I could scarcely look at it. And as the glow spread and widened, shapes formed.

  Anchored in the Sharder’s hands, white, human-like figures the size of children spread their arms wide. Between their hands, balls of liquid fire grew. The Riftspawn shrieked as their souls stretched and tore. The dark veins of corruption infesting their bodies sheared away from the roiling auras.

  With unholy wails of pain, the Riftspawn sprang away, maddened a
nd fleeing. One missed the edge of the trail and sailed over the drop, knocking free the monster that was climbing back up. The others tore down the trail until a break in the slope allowed them to bound up and out of sight.

  I pulled my attention back to the bridge. In the absence of the Spawn, the white figures were quickly fading.

  Wait! I called across the gorge, projecting my thoughts toward them.

  In the final instant before the figures dwindled to nothing, one whipped its head toward me.

  Who? I heard. The voice was melodic, neither male nor female.

  Here. I’m across the gorge.

  But it was no use. They were already gone.

  An animal’s scream echoed through the gorge. I banished my aura-sight and confronted horror. The poor horse thrashed on the trail, abdomen open and innards spilling out. Huge sections of its flesh had been torn free. On the narrow trail beside it, Sharders were trying to get close enough to grant it the mercy of a quick death.

  When the animal screamed again, it was finally too much for the mule trapped in the center of the span. Rearing up, the beast struck with its front hooves, knocking its handler flat. Desperate, the man scrambled away as the bridge twisted and bucked. With a last bray, the mule reared again, and this time, lost its balance. Its feet came down on the wrong side of the low rail, and in an instant, it was falling. I looked away before the poor beast hit bottom. There was nothing more to do for it.

  But the horse… Throwing myself into my aura-sight, I willed my focus toward the horse. Its aura was a mass of pain and terror and rage. There was no saving the poor animal. With a lance of my aura, I shoved my spirit inside the horse’s and burst my influence wide, taking hold of the beast. Already terrorized beyond all limitations, the animal thrashed, but now its fight was against my control. Outwardly, its body stilled.